


Conversations With The Betrayed

by eeyore9990, unpossible



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Conversations, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wasn't the only one Fury and Coulson betrayed. </p><p>-or-</p><p>Uncomfortable conversations with The Black Widow.</p><p> </p><p>***Please note: This is a work of fanfiction based on the fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/945951">What The Deep Heart Means</a> by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible">unpossible</a>.  That should be read first for this to make sense.***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nick Fury

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/gifts).
  * Inspired by [What the Deep Heart Means](https://archiveofourown.org/works/945951) by [unpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible). 



> Stop! Until you've read [What The Deep Heart Means](http://archiveofourown.org/works/945951) by [unpossible](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible), this will make very little sense. It is a series of conversations told from Natasha's POV based on the actions and reactions of characters to key events in that fic. 
> 
> So far there are four segments of this, more will probably be written, but I'm trying very hard not to creep too closely to the timeline of Deep Heart so as not to infringe on unpossible's potential plotlines. While I did seek permission from unpossible before writing this, everything here is from my own head and has no bearing on the direction of that fic. Also, this could all end up hilariously retconned in future chapters of Deep Heart. Reader beware.

"Widow."

For a flicker of an instant, Natasha considered ignoring Fury. But she turned instead, head tilting in something akin to curiosity as she waited for Fury to approach. She would not come when beckoned like an obedient dog.

"Coulson's back. He's in his office." Fury shifted his weight, watching her closely for a reaction. Considering whether to give him one, she stared at the place just beneath his good eye, the place where new skin, freshly healed, shined brighter than the rest.

"Is this news which should concern me?" Natasha asked, voice smooth and expression serene.

"I need you to debrief him on the op in Estonia. And I need to know if you can work with him. With SHIELD."

Natasha's lip curled in disgust. "Are you questioning my professionalism?"

Leather squeaked as Fury crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's pretend I am. I've already lost one agent over this bullshit. Are you planning to follow him out the door if I ask you to work with Coulson again?"

"This bullshit was of your own devising. Yours and Coulson's. The fallout from it is on your heads. But to answer your question: no, I have no immediate plans to terminate my association with SHIELD." Natasha gave a soft sigh over how quickly he'd healed; a black eye—or a gaping hole—would have made this pretense at eye contact far more pleasant.

"Good. Then you won't mind debriefing him."

Natasha shrugged and turned away.

"You're wrong, you know," he said, his words quiet. 

Natasha paused and waited.

"Coulson didn't plan any of this. It was my call. I won't apologize for it."

And that was enough to bring Natasha around, a small smile curving her lips. "You Americans, with your freedoms. You always forget that choice carries responsibility. Of course it was Coulson's call. He could have told you to go fuck yourself. He didn't. His choice."

"How long are you planning to punish him for that? You and Hawkeye—"

Natasha cut him off as a red haze swamped her vision. That he _dared_ invoke Hawkeye's name... "There is no punishment. Phil died on the Helicarrier—"

"And now you know he's not dead. Get over it, Romanov. He's not the first agent to miss a few months of work."

"I am over it. Long since, as a matter of fact. But I do wonder: are you planning to have a similar chat with all the agents who worked with Coulson? The ones who grieved his death? Marta, in Finance, who cried for three months anytime a requisition form for the Avengers crossed her desk? Helen, who hasn't made a single chocolate cake since the call came out over comms that Coulson was down? Have the two of you even taken a meal at the dining facility since Agent Coulson returned to duty?" Natasha's lips quirked. "Or were you afraid of retribution?"

Fury lifted a finger and deliberately ran it under his eye. "I think they considered this fair."

"If that's all," Natasha said smoothly, "I'm late for a debriefing."

And then she walked away before Fury could discern the truth, that her attack on him that day had been less about retribution and more about providing a distraction so Clint could escape.


	2. Phil Coulson

"Natasha." Coulson looked up when she opened the door, surprise flickering across his features before he adjusted his expression into a mockery of his old blank placidity. Natasha raised an eyebrow; the cracks in his composure were satisfying to witness.

"Agent Coulson." She watched a muscle leap in his jaw at the formal address. "I've been ordered to debrief you on the situation in Estonia." The implication that the only reason she'd see him now was because of an order hung heavy in the air.

"Agent Romanov, please come in." Coulson waved at the two chairs before his desk, half-rising from his own seat before awkwardly sinking back into it.

Stepping into Coulson's office caused a brief wave of grief to roll through Natasha. Not for Coulson; she'd long since burned away the betrayal of his deception. But there were ghosts of Clint here, Clint from Before. A laughing Hawkeye perched on the back of the worn sofa, tearing tiny strips off incomplete paperwork to make projectiles with which to pester their long-suffering handler. A battered Clint, one arm held protectively close to his bruised ribs as he sat curled in a chair, explaining why he'd skipped out on a medical check up.

And the last time she'd seen him in this office, hollow-eyed as he faced the emptiness of what had once been a place of comfort and security but had become a graveyard for memories of a man he'd loved.

Natasha let the bitterness of losing her partner, the first man she'd ever allowed herself to trust—the only man to prove his worthiness of that trust—wash through her as she lightly stepped into the room, her own mask firmly in place. She slid into the seat on the left, leaving the one on the right a viable weapon as her gaze slid across the surface of Coulson's desk, cataloguing everything on it.

She could never forget that she had no one at her back in this place. Not any longer.

And she _would never_ forget whose responsibility it was that her backup was gone.

"The operation we've been running in Estonia—"

"Wait. Please. I just—" Coulson smoothed a hand down his tie, shifting his weight forward in his seat as he met her gaze. "I want to apologize—"

A bubble of cool laughter rolled from Natasha's throat, and she idly wondered if he could hear the pity—the _derision_ —she felt in it. "No apology is necessary, Agent Coulson. You forget, I was raised by the Red Room. Your lies are nothing I'm unfamiliar with."

The way his shoulders tightened at her words, a full-body flinch from anyone else, was somehow more satisfying than the successful completion of an op. She watched as he leaned back in his seat, hand lifting to smooth over his tie again before stilling in mid-air and dropping to the top of his desk.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice rough and eyes staring through her.

Natasha shrugged. "Don't be. You accomplished your objective."

His eyes snapped back into focus. "Did I?" he asked, his voice almost a murmur. "Then why does it feel as though I lost..." Flicking a glance at the sofa, he shook his head. "Everything important. Your trust, Jasper's friendship, Bart—"

"Estonia was a child-trafficking ring." Natasha said, her voice dangerously pleasant as it cut through his. She hoped he understood that she would not allow him to whine about the human relationships he'd so carelessly tossed away. No matter how satisfying a mental picture it made, the thought of disembowelling him with his own letter opener. 

And it would have to be the letter opener, after all. Clint's snowglobe was gone.

Coulson searched her face for a long moment before closing his eyes with a sigh. Opening them again, he straightened in his chair, the barest tremor running through his hand as he reached for a pen. "Continue, Agent Romanov."


	3. Interlude

Natasha headed for the washroom as soon as she left Coulson's office. She still had three hours to burn before her shift was over, and she needed to make plans.

A quick walk-through showed the room and all its stalls to be empty, but she didn't trust SHIELD not to have cameras hidden even in the washrooms, so she went to the sink and started the water at a medium flow with a precise twist of the handle. A quick glance in the mirror showed that her face and eyes were calm, her mouth relaxed. 

Going through the motions of washing her hands, she considered her options. Sitwell was out. Though he had aided Clint in his escape from SHIELD, Sitwell had too many ties to the agency. And she couldn't discount the possibility that Sitwell had been a pawn in Fury's on-going manipulations. At a time when it had been made clear that they could expect no loyalty from this organization, Sitwell had stepped in. Been a shiny hero. Natasha knew too many heroes tarnished at the core to be fooled by a shiny exterior. She'd watch Sitwell, though. She needed timely information, and if she was wrong about his motivations, he could be very useful.

That only left her team. Thor was gone, Cap off balance, Banner was in no position to help _anyone_ , which just left...

Natasha turned off the water, shook out her hands, and hid a well-deserved sigh of frustration by hitting the button on the hand dryer. Clint was lucky she owed him. Otherwise, she'd be in the wind rather than doing what needed done next.


	4. Tony Stark

"Agent Romanov," Stark said, studying Natasha as she stood in the doorway to his workshop before inviting her in with a short nod. "Step into my parlor."

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Natasha arched a brow but entered the room, side stepping scattered tools and ducking under a robotic arm on her way to a stool. 

Stark's grin flashed across his face, a charming media-ready expression. "Why put the words in your mouth when they sound so much better coming from mine?"

"Apropos, though," she mused, twisting the rolling stool around in half-circles on the concrete floor. "Flies are annoying and only good for swatting from the air."

Stark held a hand to his chest. "Ouch, right in the arc reactor."

Natasha allowed a laugh to slip free. Much as the man irritated her, she had to admit he was amusing.

"How can I be of service?" Stark picked up a tiny screwdriver from his workbench and began spinning it around his fingers, a clear indication that she was about to lose his attention.

The man was a perfect candidate for Adderall.

"I need to know...," Natasha paused for a short breath, steeling herself before pushing out the words, "I need your help."

The screwdriver spun through the air and clattered to the floor as Stark lost his grip on it. His face went blank with surprise before he pursed his lips and said, "What kind of help?"

"Does Jarvis still have a backdoor to SHIELD?"

Stark laughed, his expression becoming too practiced again. "Wow, Nick, way to abandon all subtlety."

Natasha's eye twitched, and she shook her head. "Fury doesn't know about this, and I'd rather keep it that way. Clint said this was the most secure room in the Tower. That's why I'm here."

"Jarvis, sweep for bugs. You already let a spider in."

Feeling the situation slipping from her fingers, Natasha slashed a hand through the air. "Stop being an idiot and listen. Clint is... Was my partner. I owe him, more than you can ever imagine, which is why I'm still at SHIELD."

"You're still working for the place that betrayed you both! How is this a proper payback for a guy you owe?"

Natasha stared at Stark, considering how much to say. "He needs me there. He hasn't thought it through but he's... They can't just let him walk away. People like us, we don't get to quit, not really. They'll make a play, and I'm staying to cover his back when they do."

"What if they don't?"

"Then I'll be there for a long time."

The entirety of Stark's focus fell on her then, and it was breathtaking. "Are you his lover?"

"Does it matter?" 

"I've seen the footage, Romanov. If you owe him, he owes you too. Your balance sheet is pretty much even. I'll help you, if for no other reason than to piss off Fury, but I want to know what your motivation is. Because this red ledger thing is bullshit."

Natasha thought about that, lips quirking in a sad smile. "We haven't been lovers in many years. That is long past. He is..." she shrugged, hands moving through the air. "He's my partner."

"You trust him."

Natasha nodded, once, and could feel the clarity of the moment. She hadn't really thought too much about it, but perhaps Stark could understand how difficult a thing it was, to trust. How raw and vulnerable it left a person.

"I've already got protocols in place to cover down for Bruce. It won't take any extra effort to add Clint to the programming. I'll need his aliases, in case they try to go all spy versus spy on us."

Relief swamped Natasha. "You'll have them. Thank you, Stark." She stood and started to walk away, when his voice stopped her.

"I don't blame him. For walking away, I mean. What Coulson did... I know how that kind of betrayal feels, from someone you thought you could trust."

Letting the implications of that statement settle, Natasha said, "Coulson isn't Stane. Don't make the mistake of confusing them. Coulson is a company man to the soles of his shoes, but he is no threat to our lives."

"How can you be so sure? After all, you're the one looking for ways to protect Barton from him."

But she hadn't. She'd been so blinded by Coulson's habit of always telling them the truth that she'd forgotten he was a professional liar. And Clint had paid the price. Curling her hands into fists, she said, "I'm protecting him from SHIELD and the WSC. I can't protect Clint from Coulson."

Because she'd failed Clint. She was supposed to have his back, supposed to protect him, but she'd let Coulson too close. He'd slipped past her barriers and torn out Clint's heart.

Natasha straightened her shoulders and her resolve. Her partner might be bleeding out, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd plugged his wounds with her bare hands. Clint still needed her, and she would not fail him again.

"What I can do is mitigate the damage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have plenty ideas for future conversations, but I'm going to hold off on posting them until there is a good cushion in the timeline of What The Deep Heart Means. Depending on unpossible's posting schedule (and how quickly events move in the main fic), I could potentially post the next conversation as early as next Tuesday/Wednesday.


	5. Jasper Sitwell

Idling in a late-day traffic jam on the streets of Midtown in one of Stark's liberated vehicles--if he wasn't going to drive them, she'd feel no guilt for taking them--Natasha spotted a familiar figure through the crowds of pedestrians littering the sidewalks. Intrigued, she cut off a taxi and pulled the Lamborghini into what was probably not meant to be a parking spot.

But it was Tony Stark's car, so it wasn't as if she had to worry about it being towed or stolen.

Sliding out of the driver's seat, Natasha ignored the angry shouts coming from the cars still stuck on the street--seriously, it was New York; the people here would be pissed if they didn't have someone to shout angrily at--and swept her gaze over the storefronts lining the sidewalk. Picking a likely-looking pub, Natasha elbowed her way through the crowds outside it and entered, pausing a moment at the entrance to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior.

People were being obnoxiously loud in random, synchronized spurts, which must have meant that there was a game on. Scanning the room, she spotted her prey at the bar and walked over, using an icy stare to keep back the few people wanting one of the two open barstools. Sliding into the one on the right, she waited for Sitwell to notice her.

It didn't take more than a few seconds. SHIELD didn't hire idiots. Often.

His gaze travelled past her to the empty stool on her left, and she cast a look at it as well. It wasn't until he drew her attention to it that she realized she'd automatically left it open for Clint. When by herself, if given the option of two seats, she always chose the one on the left, to give herself a slight advantage should she need to fight.

Natasha let out a slow breath, shook off the disquieting feeling of everything being off-center, and caught the bartender's attention. She motioned at the bottle of beer sweating on a bar napkin in front of Sitwell and held up a finger. 

Sitwell turned his head forward, ostensibly watching the game that was blaring from multiple televisions in the pub, and rolled his shoulders as he lifted his beer to take a drink. Natasha hid a smile when his napkin stuck to the bottom for a moment before peeling off and plopping to the edge of the bar. Pushing it back to where it had been, Natasha salted the napkin for Sitwell before doing the same to a fresh one for herself.

The bartender gave her a flirty grin while dropping off her beer, but after receiving nothing more than a cool nod of thanks, made himself scarce. Natasha pursed her lips in approval. She might come back, with that kind of smart service.

Minutes passed and conversation flew around them as Natasha and Sitwell sat in companionable silence, emptying their beers in long, slow pulls. Holding his bottle up in front of his face, Sitwell stared at the last sip in the bottom before shaking his head and muttering, "This _fucking_ job." 

Natasha tipped her half-full bottle at him in sympathy.

A roar went up from the pub's patrons, and Jasper slid off his stool. Tossing a twenty on the bar, he caught the bartender's attention and motioned to her drink. Natasha's lips curled up at one corner. "Thanks, Jasper." His first name sat funny on her tongue, but if she was going to cultivate a relationship with him, it had to start somewhere.

If Sitwell was surprised, it didn't show. Instead, he just flicked a salute at her and said, "Good talk."

Natasha nodded and took a sip of her beer. "Got a ride home?"

"Subway."

Leaning back in her seat, she dug Stark's keys out of her pocket and dangled them from a finger. Sitwell coughed out a surprised-sounding laugh and shook his head. "In rush hour? Much as I'd like to desecrate one of Stark's cars with my plebian ass, I actually want to make it home tonight."

Natasha shrugged but nodded at the soundness of his logic. "Night, Jasper."

"See you around," Sitwell paused, bracing his feet as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Natasha."

When she didn't immediately knock him on his ass, Sitwell breathed a sigh of relief and left.

Natasha just shook her head and finished her drink, one eye trained on the paparazzi building around Stark's car.


	6. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta is currently beseiged at work, so this chapter has simply been picked apart by me. Please excuse any glaring lapses in grammar.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell as the group watched Clint stagger away from the table. 

_Escape and evade until the enemy is either dead or gone._ That bit of SHIELD survival training flitted through Natasha's mind while she catalogued the responses around her. The civilians would assume Clint inebriated, those at the table—Rogers, Banner, and Stark—would assume lingering anger at SHIELD's betrayal, but Thor...

Natasha watched horror dawn on his face and she thought of them all, he would be the one to understand most deeply what it meant that Coulson had lied about his death. He knew the pain of watching someone he loved die and being unable to stop it, only to have them return and prove that love a mockery.

"I don't..." he finally said, breaking through the tension. "I watched him die. He was...I was trapped behind the infernal wall of the cage—" Bruce tensed beside her, "—but...how is it possible a mortal survived?" Thor turned his gaze to Steve, beseeching. "Is he like you?"

Steve startled. "No, I...I don't think so?" He looked at Stark, who shrugged, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Not that I know, and Jarvis is now embedded everywhere at SHIELD." His gaze flickered to Natasha before darting off again. Anyone would think he was reading her reaction—as a SHIELD spy, perhaps. Only she knew it was an assurance. He was helping her protect Clint. Weight eased from Natasha's shoulders.

With a sigh, she filled in the rest. "We did not know he survived. Not until six weeks ago." And then, not assuming a thorough grasp on earth-equivalent times, she added, "Forty three days, to be exact."

"But the battle..."

"Almost five months ago, yes." Natasha watched, detached, as Thor absorbed this information, his big, sad eyes trained on the table in front of him. Finally, with a great, shuddering breath, he looked up at her, his expression solemn.

"My Lady Natasha, I am deeply embittered on your behalf that those you trust could have played you so false. After losing one's husband, a warrior woman of your caliber should—"

Natasha stopped his speech with a raised hand, her surprise causing her to blink rapidly. "Husband? Coulson and I weren't married, or even romantically involved. Why...?" And then she had to struggle against laughter. _Black Widow._ Of course Thor would take the literal meaning. Natasha smoothed her expression and leaned forward, shooting a hard stare at Stark, who was gaping at Thor, his eyes twinkling with the beginning of humor that would be best kept leashed.

"Stark, I believe I heard someone mention a dart tournament. Why don't you, Steve, and Bruce..."

Bruce was already standing, one hand dropping to briefly squeeze her shoulder before they left Natasha and Thor in privacy. 

"My code name," Natasha said, meeting Thor's gaze evenly, "is a reference to a deadly spider."

Thor's confused expression settled into lines of dismay. "It was not SHIELD who gave you this name?"

Shaking her head, Natasha began to peel the label from her beer in long strips. After the media blitz post-thwarted-alien-invasion, her early life was no secret. "No. I was taken by the Red Room when I was four years old and raised to be an assassin. It wasn't until several years after I... left the Red Room that Clint recruited me for SHIELD."

"Friend Hawkeye brought you into the bosom of SHIELD?" Something about the way he said that made Natasha glance up and study Thor.

"You saw my interview with Loki?" At Thor's hesitant nod, Natasha said, "I was luckier than Clint. When Coulson recruited him, he did it with a bullet to the leg. I just got threatened with a pointy stick." Natasha cursed herself as soon as the phrase left her mouth. She was _never_ that careless.

And it was, of course, too much to hope that Thor could have missed the unintended reference. "It would appear that my brother's recruitment techniques are not as original as he'd no doubt hoped." His voice was rough with sorrow. 

Natasha reached forward, but before she could lay a comforting hand over Thor's fist, he abruptly stood and made a deep bow. "Lady Natasha, the betrayal you have suffered does no credit to those who've wronged you. May they feel the sting of your tiny counterpart all the days of their deaths."

If Natasha were the sort to let her jaw drop in shock, she'd be gaping. As it was, she simply murmured, "The idiocy of those who seek to do wrong by me and mine is often its own punishment. Though I do enjoy driving the point home."

Thor flashed her a savage grin before nodding once and leaving Natasha to her thoughts.


	7. Clint Barton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this so many times, which explains the length of time between the last chapter and this one. I wanted to say so much with this chapter, and I'm not sure it's exactly what I wanted, but if I keep messing with it, I'm going to ruin the whole thing.
> 
> So, here.

Natasha's head was ringing in that hollow, on-the-edge of pain way that meant the low-level pain killers were still circulating. She stared down at Clint, trying and failing not to grip his hand too hard. 

It was the hand he used to hold his bow and thumb through the selections on his arrow heads. He wouldn't thank her for breaking the fine bones in it. 

Natasha eased off a bit, eyes locked on the place where the bandages covering his face met skin. Patches of scraggly stubble sat on his cheeks, bringing to mind their first assignment together where they'd been trapped without amenities for two days. A smile touched her lips, and she whispered, "You look like you're molting again, Hawkeye."

There was no response from his restlessly sleeping form, not that he would have heard her regardless. Natasha's grip tightened again unconsciously, her eyes tracking to the side of his head. She could still feel the press of his hands to her ears as he curled over her stunned form, his entire body jolting when the percussion blast hit them. 

The blast he'd sacrificed himself to protect her from.

When her lungs shuddered with the need for oxygen, Natasha realized she'd been holding her breath again. A carefully controlled inhale brought with it the smell of injury, of hospitals and muted blood. Of suffering.

Natasha was alone in Clint's room, the rest of the team preparing to go after Viper. She was ready, the sight of Clint lying sightless and deafened in the too-small bed the only preparation she needed. But still she lingered, Clint's hand clasped tightly in her own. She'd never been so conflicted.

One part of her screamed for vengeance, to kill and destroy and salt the earth beneath the charred remains of her enemies. The other part... Clint was as defenseless as she'd ever seen him. It was her job, _her place_ , to have his back, just as he had hers. She couldn't leave him, not like this.

Anyone could come for him. If she went after Viper, she'd have to leave him.

Natasha's fingers ached where they were wrapped around Clint's.

A movement at her elbow made her whip her head to the side, body already moving to cover Clint's. 

"Whoa, easy," Stark said, hands out to show he was unarmed. "I just thought you should see this." And with that, he pulled a tablet out from under his arm and laid it gently on the bed near Clint's feet before walking out.

A video file was queued up on the screen, the play icon staring back at her. Not leaving Clint's side nor dropping his hand, Natasha hit play and watched the hospital cameras pick up Coulson, sprinting down the corridor. The angle changed and suddenly she was staring at the doorway of Clint's room, watching Steve and Thor hold down an out-of-control Hawkeye before Coulson burst in and _took Steve down_ to get to Clint.

Natasha pressed pause, then swiped the screen back a few frames, studying Coulson's face. 

She'd known Coulson for years, let him have her back more than once. There was a reason his betrayal of her trust had burned her so badly when they'd seen him that day in the restaurant being so alive. Because the only other person she allowed at her back was _Clint_ , and if she'd allowed Coulson there with him, she had to accept responsibility for turning her back on the man who'd _hurt_ Clint. Broken him so badly he'd walked away from SHIELD. 

From Natasha.

But this Coulson staring out of the screen...this was a Coulson she'd never seen before. He was _frantic_ , fighting his way to Clint's side, and once there... Natasha touched the screen in wonder, jolting when the video took that cue to start playing again. Coulson was speaking to someone—there was no audio and the angle was wrong for lip reading—but his face was raw with emotion.

Emotion he was making no attempt to hide.

Natasha had only seen that level of fear and pain once before, when she'd been the one to inform Clint that Loki had killed Coulson. A small, controlled breath left her.

_Stupid men._

So much pain, so avoidable. Natasha rolled her eyes to the ceiling before gently extracting her hand. She slid her fingers into Clint's hair, decision made.

"I'm going to go kill them. I'm bringing some of your arrows with me to stick in their corpses. I think you'll enjoy that, especially once Stark gets a few pictures of it and posts them on Instagram. The doctors will heal your body. The rest is up to you," she said, leaving unspoken the thought, ' _and Coulson._ '

Not that she had forgiven Coulson. One revelatory moment did not make up for three months of grief, for lying to _her_. Her payback would be long and inventive, but no longer deadly in intent.

Natasha plucked Clint's phone up off the table, scrolling through his messages for the ones from Zeke. Lips twitching, she cast one more glance at Clint before leaving to find Coulson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be up soon and is such a treat. It's a part of What the Deep Heart Means that unpossible thought would fit better here. 
> 
> Yeah, my squee, let me show you it. :D


	8. Pepper Potts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter written, in whole, by unpossible and contributed to Conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deepest thanks to unpossible, not only for allowing me to play in the sandbox created for What The Deep Heart Means, but also for contributing this, the final chapter of Conversations.
> 
> ETA (unpossible): And I want to thank eeyore9990, lol, for doing such a beautiful job, and for letting Phil and Pepper have a scene. I have really loved these insights.

“Ms Potts,” Phil begins.

She gives him one of those devastatingly direct looks, the ones that must have brought Tony Stark to his knees. “Agent Coulson. Long time, no see,” she says, distant and unhappy.

“I _have_ tried to make contact with you before this, several times,” Phil says. He slants a look at Happy, who is _Not._ Happy.

Pepper follows his gaze. Comprehension spreads over her face, and she sighs. There’s a half-second of irritation, too, when she figures out who would have given Happy orders like that. Phil lets himself linger for a moment on the satisfying thought of the tongue-lashing that is in Stark’s near future. “It’s okay, Hap,” she says, and puts her hand on the big man’s arm.

She takes a step toward Phil, which, from a security point of view is a terrible idea, they’re in a fairly deserted underground parking lot, _anything_ could happen and she’s stepping out of her bodyguard’s field. Of course, it’s none of his business, and it’s also a sign that she still trusts him to some degree. Probably helps that she doesn’t have any real combat experience, that Phil is likely her first true taste of betrayal.

He doesn’t like thinking of what he’s done in that way, but. The people around him really aren’t leaving him any other option. He hadn’t been at all prepared for the reactions he’s been getting, from any of them. Embarrassing, really, the things he’s missed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not dressed in a suit before,” she observes.

He glances down at his khakis and shirt and shrugs. “I’m picking up Barton at the hospital as soon as I’m done here,” he offers. “The suit would be overkill, I think.”

“Oh,” she says, and stops a few feet away. “How is he?”

He glances away. “I’m not his medical proxy,” he says, and that still burns, no matter how reasonable it is. He can’t help wondering whether it was done while Phil was ‘dead’, or in the burning aftermath of his resurrection. “But Agent Romanov says the doctors are hopeful of a full recovery.”

“Good,” she says, very quietly. “That’s- that’s good.”

There’s a pause, then. Phil takes a quick breath.

“You probably don’t particularly remember the last time we spoke,” he begins.

She raises an eyebrow. “You mean when you broke into the penthouse to give us a package sketching out the various ways the world was possibly about to end? I seem to vaguely recall.”

He’s missed her deadpan delivery. Though usually there’s a little more warmth. Or even _some_.

“I wasn’t talking about-” he gestures vaguely and begins again. “I meant. There was a moment where you and Mr Stark were... celebrating.”

She blinks. “We- yes, we were.” Her tone is slightly less cool, he’s confused her, or surprised her.

“I turned away from... the two of you were...”

“Yes,” she takes pity on him because she is a far better person than Tony Stark deserves. “I remember.”

“And you thought I was sad about Susan.”

“ _SUSAN!_ ” Pepper snaps her fingers. “I _knew_ it started with an S. Uh, sorry,” she adds, slightly sheepish.

Phil fights back a small smile. “It wasn’t Susan I was thinking of,” he forces himself to press on. He likes Pepper Potts more than she will ever know, it’s the only reason he’s making this one last attempt to apologize, to give her more of an explanation than anyone else has so far received.

A tiny frown mars her face. “It... wasn’t?”

Phil hesitates. Then he says, “There was a reason Susan moved to Portland.” He takes a deep breath and says, “I wasn’t giving her what she needed. What she deserved. I could never give her that. Because. Because I was already- there was already someone that I-” he swallows. This is so much harder than he’d expected.

She’s staring at him, eyes wide. “ _Phil_ ,” she says, breathless. “Oh my- oh, _Phil_ ,” she says, hand to her mouth, and there’s so much compassion in her voice, so much sadness that he just blinks, a little stunned. “Phil, you don’t have to, I mean. Some things are maybe... better left unsaid.”

There’s a fine flush in her cheeks and he stares at her blankly for a moment before he realizes what his stuttering delivery has implied, what she’s assuming.

“ _No_ ,” he says, too quickly, and steps forward, hands out ,“No, that’s not – not _you_. I didn’t mean-”

“Oh,” she says, unmistakable relief in her tone, “Oh thank _God_. Wait, I mean-”

And now there’s unmistakable embarrassment. They stare at one another wide-eyed for an instant, and then Phil can’t help it, his lips twitch and then they’re both laughing.

“Barton,” he finally chokes out. “I’m in love with Clint Barton. Always was.”

“ _Clint_?” Pepper manages, shocked all over again. Probably only a little bit more shocked than Phil himself, truth be told.

It’s the first time he’s ever said it aloud.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, kudos'd, and commented. It felt good to stretch my fingers on the keyboard again after such a long absence.
> 
> ETA (unpossible): Also, for readers of Deep Heart, this scene hopefully explains why Tony changed from semi-supportive to pissy between the hospital and next time we see him, the lake. Pepper was *not* happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Deepest thanks to Leela for the wonderful beta and Bethbethbeth for reading through the (very rough) first draft and encouraging my nonsense.


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